


I don't know how to look you in the eye after the things I've done.

by goldpeak



Category: The Night Shift (TV 2014)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldpeak/pseuds/goldpeak
Summary: Rick reaches up and cups his face with both hands, thumbs running across Drew’s cheeks. Gently, his boyfriend moves Drew’s face to look him straight on.“Look me in the eye.”“I don’t know how to look you in the eye after the things I’ve done,” Drew says.





	I don't know how to look you in the eye after the things I've done.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all. I'm publishing a few works (I posted a White Collar hurt/comfort piece last night!) in the hopes of rekindling a bit of my passion for writing. Don't expect constant updates. Anything I post will likely be one-shots.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one. It's based off prompts from user "prompt-dealer" on Tumblr. This is also posted on my Tumblr, "rkgoldpeak."

The night is dark and all-consuming. No lights are on inside the small apartment; it looks lifeless. The curtains are drawn and the doors locked, windows shut tight against the winter chill.

The only sound coming from the desolate-looking apartment are weak, wheezing breaths. In the corner of the living room, his head tipped back against the wall, sits none other than Drew Alister.

He’s still wearing his hospital scrubs. They’re splattered with blood. His last case of his shift had sent him stumbling into the locker room, eyes red-rimmed and chest heaving as he had fumbled for his keys and hurried out of the hospital faster than strictly necessary.

He’d turned the ignition in his truck and driven home with shaky breaths and anxious fingers.

Finding the apartment empty, Drew had immediately drawn all the curtains and dropped into the corner to regather himself.

Flashbacks of sand, stark blue skies with no clouds in sight - nothing except the burning heat of the sun directly above his head. Tents flapping in the wind, the yell of bantering soldiers.

The roar of bombs, the shaking of the ground as debris was sent flying, and the screams of the injured.

The rhythmic sound of the automatic weapons. The pleading of their victims. The guilt, heavy in Drew’s heart, after every single mission he completed.

He’s disgusted with himself. He’s a horrible person who had done horrible things and would probably do them again. He tries to make up for it by saving as many lives as he could, but sometimes that doesn’t work out either. He leaves destruction in his wake wherever he goes. The cries of the injured and the grieving follow him throughout his life.

He looks down at his hands, resting on his propped-up knees. They are splattered with blood, shaking faintly. He flexes his fingers, the dried blood cracking, before lacing them together and tipping his head back again as more silent tears race down his cheeks.

He had always tried to justify his actions. What he’d done had been for his country. It was necessary. The ends always justify the means.

Sometimes, the excuses seem unsatisfactory and he’s consumed by guilt and memories. He always takes a moment for himself, gathering his thoughts and emotions back into their cage before throwing himself back into the game of life.

It’s moments like these, dark and all by himself - alone with nothing else but his thoughts - when the excuses dry up and the guilt flows freely and he’s filled with regret and he sobs until his eyes burn and his chest heaves.

These moments don’t tend to come often, thankfully. But, they do come sometimes. Drew tends to never be prepared, and he always hopes Rick is around, but that’s not always the case.

It’s some time later when Drew’s sobs quiet down to subtle hiccups and his hands are only barely trembling. He still hasn’t moved, not even to wipe the tears from his face. His hands still rest on his knees and his head is still tipped against the wall when the lock on the front door clicks and he blinks open his tired eyes.

The door swings inwards, a figure shrouded by darkness stepping through it. Drew can only make out his silhouette, but he can tell that it’s Rick. The man in question pauses, looking around - confused as to why it’s so dark and quiet.

“Drew?” he calls out tentatively.

“I’m right here,” Drew says, meekly.

“Why’re you on the ground?” Rick questions, setting his duffle bag down on the ground near the door before crossing the room in a few strides.

He flicks the light switch on as he passes it, causing Drew to finally move and shield his eyes.

“Sorry,” Rick murmurs, kneeling down to Drew’s level. “Let me see you.”

Drew hesitantly lowers his arms from his face, unable to look Rick in the eye. Rick is too good. Drew doesn’t deserve him. All the sins Drew has committed render him unsuitable for such an untouched human.

“Baby…” the taller man says quietly, mouth creased in a frown as he reaches out to cup Drew’s cheek with one hand.

The other man’s eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch, another sob tearing itself from his throat. In a flurry of movement, Rick scoops him up and is carrying him to the bathroom with only slight difficulty.

Rick does his best to set the man down gently on the counter, stepping back and smoothing his hands down the tops of Drew’s thighs. Drew is still gazing downwards, his eyes locked on the countertop. His hands hang at his sides.

“I’m going to wash the blood off,” Rick says quietly again, as if Drew is some sort of flight animal that could take off at any moment. Rick’s not sure if that statement is untrue or not.

He takes Drew’s hand and guides it to the sink, running the cold water over it. Drew flinches at the sensation before relaxing and letting Rick scrub the blood off for him. The process is repeated with the other hand, and then both are rubbed dry with a soft washcloth.

He steps back, grabbing a different washcloth and wetting it with warm water, before standing between Drew’s legs and reaching up to dab at his tear-streaked face. Spots of blood are mingled in with the tears from when Drew had rubbed at his face, and a rivulet of crimson tracks down from his lip where he had bit through part of the skin trying to stifle his sobs.

Drew sits obediently as Rick cleans him up, his thoughts still far off.

The sounds of war still echo in his ears, his eyes unseeing of his current settings and instead seeing only endless sand and bloody limbs - some without attached bodies.

Rick leaves the room briefly, taking the washcloths into the laundry room before returning with a pair of sweatpants.

“Put these on,” Rick asks, not leaving room for argument. Drew doesn’t know what’s best for him at the moment.

The man complies thoughtlessly, slipping off the counter and stripping his dirty scrubs from his body. Rick takes them and leaves to toss them in the washer as well, returning to see Drew - wearing the sweatpants, now - staring mindlessly at the wall.

“Are you good?” Rick asks, laying a hand on Drew’s shoulder. He feels the man tense up under the touch, before relaxing and leaning into Rick’s hand.

Drew doesn’t reply verbally, his eyes still glazed over and his thoughts clearly very far off.

Rick reaches up and cups his face with both hands, thumbs running across Drew’s cheeks. Gently, his boyfriend moves Drew’s face to look him straight on. Seeming to snap back a bit, Drew still casts his gaze downwards - but doesn’t fight Rick’s touch.

“Look at me.”

Drew raises his eyes to stare at Rick’s chest.

“Look me in the eye.”

“I don’t know how to look you in the eye after the things I’ve done,” Drew says, his voice crackling and raspy from the stress of the tears he’d cried. His gaze doesn’t move.

“Drew. Look at me,” Rick pleads, swiping his thumbs across his boyfriend’s slightly damp skin. “Please.”

The other boy slowly tracks his own eyes up to meet Rick’s stormy blue ones. The longer Drew looks, the more tears well up in his eyes - and then he’s crying again, the tears spilling rapidly.

“I hate watching you do this to yourself,” Rick murmurs, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to Drew’s forehead.

At the soft touch, Drew’s breath catches and he leans forward into Rick, allowing the taller man to wrap his arms around his trembling form and hold him up as more silent tears fall from his eyes.

Drew’s fingers scrabble for purchase and hook into Rick’s shirt, his entire body slumped against his boyfriend.

“You need to sleep,” Rick says, his voice just barely a whisper. “Will you walk with me?”

Drew nods slowly against his chest, so Rick steps back and rests an arm around the man’s shoulders. They slowly make it to their bedroom, where Drew practically falls into their bed and curls up, eyes still staring at, seemingly, nothing.

Rick sighs before sliding in beside him, leaning against the headboard with his head tilted down to look at Drew.

“I know you won’t believe me,” Rick starts, hesitating only slightly. “I know you think you’re the worst person alive. I know what you’re thinking, right now. You’ve done this a few times, you know?”

He waits for a reaction from his boyfriend, but receives none.

“You feel guilty. I know you do. I know you think that you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to live.” Rick hates the words coming out of his mouth, and desperately hopes that Drew doesn’t  _ really  _ think them of himself. “You’re really wrong. So wrong.”

Drew swallows heavily, tilting his head up just the slightest bit to let his eyes scan Rick’s features. Checking for any hint of a lie. 

Rick reaches out and rests a hand on the top of Drew’s head, thumb sweeping over the short, blondish-brown hair.

“You didn’t have a choice,” Rick says, contemplating his next words very carefully. “I didn’t have any choice, either. I’ve done a lot of the things you have, Drew. I feel the guilt, and some days it’s overwhelming, but I don’t hate myself. I don’t think I deserve to die. Do you think I do?”

Drew’s eyes snap open and he shakes his head rapidly, “Of course not! Of course I don’t.”

“Why do you think that about yourself, then?”

Rick’s honestly surprised when he gets a truthful answer.

“Because after you came home you stopped killing. I keep doing it.” Drew says feebly, his voice cracking. He inhales sharply.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say in a while. You are not killing anyone. Sometimes, people in your care die. Not as a direct result of your care. Sometimes, people in your care are saved.  _ That  _ is a direct result of your care.” Rick is surprised at the coherence with which his thoughts are being articulated. He hopes Drew believes him. He’s at a loss for how to combat this. “You’re saving people now. If you were dead, some of them would be to. A lot of them would. You deserve to live. This world needs you in it. I need you in it.”

Drew doesn’t want to cry anymore, he’s tired and aching, but he can’t stop a few more tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m so sorry. I hurt you.”

“You being like this hurts me a lot,” Rick confirms. “But it’s okay. You’re okay. I know you don’t feel these things on purpose.”

“I had a really bad shift,” Drew explains slowly. “I-. Nevermind.”

“Go on.”

Drew shakes his head. “I can’t. Not now. Maybe tomorrow.”

Rick concedes. He settles himself properly on the pillows before stretching out his arm as an invitation. Immediately, Drew moves closer and snuggles into Rick’s side, pressed along the length of his body with his head pillowed on the other man’s bicep, and an arm thrown across his chest.

Rick reaches his free arm up to lace his fingers with Drew’s, squeezing his boyfriend’s hand comfortingly.

“I love you,” Drew mumbles, his voice muffled by the fabric of Rick’s t-shirt.

“And I love you,” Rick assures, pressing another kiss to the top of Drew’s head. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”


End file.
